The Forever Man(22)

Tate watched her, intrigued by the strength of this woman he'd married.  She'd struggled single-handedly to run this place, and almost worn  herself into the ground doing it. Even now, with a man at hand to tend  to things, she willingly shared the worries and problems accompanying  the job. His eyes settled on her troubled expression, and for a moment  he was struck by the urge to smooth away the worry lines. She deserved  more than life had dealt her in the past.

"Tate?" Impatience laced the single word. "Can we still sell them off, or do we need to wait till the spring?"

"I can't leave them in the swamp, Jo. They need to put on some weight or  they won't bring much at all." For a moment he watched her, saw the  frown draw down her brows as she fretted.

"Don't worry, Johanna," he told her, knowing even as he spoke the words  that they were futile. "I'll take care of it. I'm more concerned with  those cows and calves out there. I'll need to bring them up to the near  pasture, once I get the steers settled. I don't like the idea of those  young ones being so far from the barn when bad weather comes. And I need  to do something about a couple of them, anyway. One of them is a  heifer, but the other two … Well, they missed out on … They should have  been … "

"I understand," Johanna put in hastily. "Mr. Cooney always helped my  father with that job." And she'd always stayed far aloof from the  proceedings, unaware of what was transpiring, unwilling to learn the  secrets of that annual event, when the young bulls became steers by  virtue of a nasty-looking instrument.

"I may have to call him in to give me a hand." Carrying the hay-laden  pitchfork, Tate stepped to the nearest stall. From within, one of the  new mares nickered, welcoming him.

"How are they settling in?" Johanna asked, walking behind him as he gathered up hay.

"They're doing all right. I think the chestnut is about ready for the  stallion. He thinks so, too," he said, his mouth twisting into a wry  grin. "He's been rousting around out there all day, blowin' and snortin'  to beat the band."

"What about the bay?" Johanna had overcome her reticence about  discussing the business of breeding with her father, but with Tate the  subject presented a batch of problems. This breeding right up close to  the house made her most uncomfortable. Cows tended to the matter  themselves, it seemed. The bull had managed to take care of things  without anyone's help, somewhere out in the far pasture. No one ever  knew for sure which cows would drop a calf come spring, but you could  pretty well count on the good old reliables to come up with a swollen  belly every year.

"I bred the bay yesterday," Tate said, studiously avoiding her gaze. "I  wasn't sure how much you wanted to know about it, Johanna. She took him  pretty well. It should be a good breeding."

She turned away, looking out the barn door. "Will you be taking the stallion back when you've finished with him?"

"Yeah, I made arrangements for his new owner to meet me at the livery stable next week, Monday."

"Will you need help? I can drive the team to town, if you want to ride the stallion."

"I hadn't thought of that," he said. "Might be a good idea. I'd thought  to tie him to the back of the surrey. But I think riding him will be  better."

She nodded, anxious to see an end to the stallion's stay. There was  about him a danger, a risk, she felt vulnerable to, and having him gone  would not make her the least bit unhappy.

Suddenly, across the yard, she caught sight of Timmy approaching,  carrying two kittens in his arms. "He's chosen those two to keep," she  said quietly, relieved to change the subject. "You don't mind, do you,  Tate?"                       
       
           



       

His long arm draped across her shoulder as he moved to her side. "Not as  long as he keeps them outdoors. He's hoping you'll let them in the  house, you know."

Johanna's heart beat a little faster as she accepted his nonchalant  gesture. The warmth of that arm, the pressure of his fingers through the  shoulder of her coat and the outdoor scent of his clothing all nudged  her into an awareness of the pleasure of his presence beside her. She  bit at her lower lip and lowered her head, looking from his scuffed barn  boots to her own old black shoes. Like dusty companions, they stood  side by side. Her mouth twisted at the absurdity of that thought.

"We make a good pair, Jo," he said, jarring her with his words. It was  as if he'd caught hold of her meanderings and voiced them aloud. He  tugged her against his side. "You're a good wife. You've been good to  the boys."

"Pete … " She inhaled deeply, and his fingers tightened, sliding down to clasp her arm.

"He'll be all right. He's just feeling his way right now, testing you. I think he's coming along, though."

"Keep him away from here, will you, Tate? When you breed the mare, I mean."

His laugh was a rumble in his chest. "I'll have a long talk with him on  my hands if he shows up. 'Course, maybe it's time. He's heading for  eight, and farm boys grow up early."

"So do farm girls," she snapped. "But some things they're better off not knowin' right off the bat."

She'd gone rigid in his grasp, and he tugged at her, rocking her off  balance. "Come on, Jo. I was just raggin' at you. I'll keep him busy  somewhere else." He looked down at her, his eyes twinkling. "You  wouldn't want to give me a hand with the job, would you?"

"Tate!" Properly scandalized by his proposal, she broke from his grip,  stalking toward the house as his laughter rang out. And from deep  within, her curiosity raged into being, consuming her with its tentacles  of need as she considered the idea of standing by as the two  magnificent animals mated. Her mind's eye caught a glimpse of the tall,  muscular stallion, rearing, mane tossing, hooves cutting the air as the  mare waited his attentions.

She stepped up her pace, her stride lengthening as she neared the house.  Flushed and breathing harder than the slight exertion warranted, she  reached the back porch. Without a backward glance, she went in, hitching  her shoes off in the washroom. And then peeked from the edge of the  door frame to catch a last glimpse of the tall figure watching from the  barn door.





"Pa went out to check on the cattle he brought in from the far pasture,"  Pete said darkly. "He said to tell you he wouldn't be too far away when  supper's ready." The boy's lip was pooched forward as he spoke, and his  toe was rubbing hard at a hole he'd managed to make in the dirt. "He  rode one of his old mares, but he wouldn't let me go along."

Johanna resisted the urge to reach for the dark, silky locks covering  the boy's head. So badly she wanted to run her fingers through his hair,  caress him with a mother's touch, that the impulse was almost  overwhelming at times. Only the knowledge that he would not welcome it  kept her from the deed.

"I'm sure your father had his reasons," she said quietly, thinking of  how Tate looked astride one of his mares. He rode the docile animals  he'd brought from Ohio bareback, like a plowboy. Her father had had a  small horse he used for running down the loose cattle, usually calling  in a couple of neighbors to give him a hand rounding them up.

"Maybe next time your pa will take you along, Pete. I think he's only going to be gone a short while today."

"I'm gonna be able to ride pretty soon," the boy said confidently. "I just need a little practice."

Johanna eyed him from where she stood, wrist-deep in bread dough. Her  hands turned the mass in a practiced movement, pummeled it into shape  and turned it again. "He'll see to it you get on a horse before long,"  she told him. "Your pa keeps his word."

The small shoulders slumped. "Not till spring, he won't."                       
       
           



       

"Don't you have chores to do this afternoon, Pete? Where's Timmy? I thought your pa said to shuck some corn for the pigs today."

The glare he turned in her direction was dark, but his shoulders  straightened as he recognized the authority in her quiet voice. "Timmy's  out in the loft, watchin' those dumb cats."

"Well, go find him and do what your pa said. It's warm by the side of the corncrib, out of the wind."

The pile of corn was slowly being depleted, as Tate, Johanna and the  boys took their turns at shucking the ears from the dry stalks. It was a  tiresome task, done at odd moments, but necessary before the snow came  to cover the last of the stalks, which made the job even worse.